THE BRANDING NEEDLE

THE FULL SERIES OF

OR

History of a Proletarian Family
Across the Ages

By EUGENE SUE

Consisting of the Following Works:

THE GOLD SICKLE; or, Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen.
THE BRASS BELL; or, The Chariot of Death.
THE IRON COLLAR; or, Faustine and Syomara.
THE SILVER CROSS; or, The Carpenter of Nazareth.
THE CASQUE'S LARK; or, Victoria, the Mother of the Camps.
THE PONIARID'S HILT; or, Karadeucq and Ronan.
THE BRANDING NEEDLE; or, The Monastery of Charolles.
THE ABBATIAL CROSIER; or, Bonaik and Septimine.
THE CARLOVINGIAN COINS; or, The Daughters of Charlemagne.
THE IRON ARROW-HEAD; or, The Buckler Maiden.
THE INFANT'S SKULL; or, The End of the World.
THE PILGRIM'S SHELL; or, Fergan the Quarryman.
THE IRON PINCERS; or, Mylio and Karvel.
THE IRON TREVET; or Jocelyn the Champion.
THE EXECUTIONER'S KNIFE; or, Joan of Arc.
THE POCKET BIBLE; or, Christian the Printer.
THE BLACKSMITH'S HAMMER; or, The Peasant Code.
THE SWORD OF HONOR; or, The Foundation of the French Republic.
THE GALLEY SLAVE'S RING; or, The Family Lebrenn.

Published Uniform With This Volume By
THE NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
28 CITY HALL PLACE NEW YORK CITY

THE
BRANDING NEEDLE

: : : : OR : : : :

THE MONASTERY OF CHAROLLES

A Tale of the First Communal Charter

TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY

DANIEL DE LEON

NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY, 1908

Copyright, 1908, by the
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.

INDEX

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

Semiramis, Brunhild, Catherine of Medicis constitute a trinity of historic women unique in their greatness. Their ambition was boundless, their intellectual powers matchless, the depths of their immorality unfathomable. As such they were the scourges of their respective ages. Queen Brunhild, a central figure in this superb story, may be said to be the Sixth Century heiress of the Semiramis of over ten centuries earlier, and the progenitor of the Catherine of nearly ten centuries later, who figures later in the sixteenth story of this series of Eugene Sue's of historic novels named by him The Mysteries of the People; or, History of a Proletarian Family Across the Ages.

This story—The Branding Needle; or The Monastery of Charolles—is the seventh of the series. Both in the tragic picture of Brunhild, and of the rustic, industrial and peaceful picture of the settlement of Charolles, the story constitutes a connecting link between the turbulence of the previous story—The Poniard's Hilt; or, Karadeucq and Ronan—and the renewed turbulence of the age depicted in the story that follows—The Abbatial Crosier; or, Bonaik and Septimine.

With much color of truth does Eugene Sue look upon the settlement of Charolles as the remote yet initial step to the Communes which, a few centuries later, constituted a marked feature of the history of France, and ultimately led to historic events of world-wide importance. The circumstances under which the royal charter of Charolles was granted, described with historic accuracy, its perils and its vicissitudes, unfold a page of history of no slight value to the student of history, and of fascinating interest to the lover of historic narratives.

Daniel de Leon.

New York, February, 1908.

PART I

THE VALLEY OF CHAROLLES

CHAPTER I.

THE SIGNAL.

About fifty years have elapsed since King Clotaire had his son Chram burned alive together with the latter's wife and daughters. Let us forget the spectacle of desolation that conquered Gaul continues to present under the descendants of Clovis for the last fifty years, and rest our eyes upon the Valley of Charolles.

Oh, the fathers of the happy inhabitants who people that corner of the land did not bend their necks under the yoke of either Frankish seigneurs or Gallic bishops. No, no—they proved the old Gallic blood still flowed in their veins. The consequence is noticed in the picture of dignified felicity that the valley offers. Behold on the slope of the hill the cosy homes half shaded by vines, that carpet the walls and the ripe maturity and luxuriant quality of which are attested by their leaves and grapes that the autumn sun has reddened and gilt. Each of the houses is surrounded by a garden of flowers with a clump of shade-giving trees. Never did the eye of man dwell upon a more smiling village. A village? No; it rather resembles a large borough. From at least six to seven hundred houses are scattered on the slope of that hill, without counting the vast thatched structures that are situated below on the meadow, which is watered by a river that rises to the north of the valley, crosses it and forms its boundary far away where the horizon dips. Yonder the river parts in two arms; one flows eastward, the other westward, after bathing in its course the feet of a forest of gigantic chestnut trees from between the tops of which the roof of a tall stone building is perceived, surmounted by a cross of iron.

No, never yet was promised land better calculated to reward industry with abundance. Half way up the slope of the hill, the purple colored vines; above the vineyards, the agricultural fields, on which the stubble of rye and wheat left from the last harvest is here and there seen burning. The fertile acreage stretches up to the skirts of the forests that crown the surrounding eminences, within which the spacious valley is locked. Below the vineyards are meadowlands watered by the river. Numerous flocks of sheep and herds of horses browse and graze upon the succulent pasture. The bells of the bulls and wethers are heard tinkling their rural melody. Here and yonder carts drawn by oxen slowly roll over the ground where the stubble was burned the day before, or four-wheeled wagons slowly descend the slopes of the vineyards and wend their way towards the common wine-presses, which, together with the stables, the sheep-folds and the pig-sties, all alike common, are located in the neighborhood of the river. Several workshops also lie contiguous to the river; the wash and spinning houses, where the flax is prepared and the wool washed preparatorily to being transformed into warm clothing; there also are situated the tanneries, the forges, the mills equipped with enormous grind-stones. Peace, security, contentment and work are seen everywhere reflected in the valley. The sound of the beetles of the washerwomen and the curriers, the clang of the blacksmiths' hammers, the joyful cries of the men and women engaged at the vintage, the rythmic chant of the husbandmen keeping time to the even and slow gait of the draft-oxen, the rustic flute of the shepherds,—all these sounds, including the hum of the swarming bees, another set of indefatigable toilers, who are busily gathering the honey from the last autumnal flowers,—all these different sounds, from the furthest and vaguest to the nearest and loudest, mingle into one harmony that is at once sweet and imposing; it is the voice of labor and happiness rising heavenward as a continuous thanksgiving.

What is it that is going on in yonder house, which, although constructed like all the others, nevertheless, being nearest to the crest of the hill, seems to be the culminating point of the settlement, and commands a full view of the valley? Dressed in festive garb, the dwellers of that house are seen going in and out. They are seen heaping dry vine twigs in a sort of pyre at a goodly distance from the door. Young girls and children are seen and heard merrily bringing in their arms their contributions of dry wood, and running off again for more combustibles. A short old woman, with hair as white as silver, dainty, comely and still quick despite her advanced age, superintends the preparation of the pyre. As all old women are apt to do, she finds fault and sermonizes—but not in anger, on the contrary. Listen to her:

"Oh, those young girls, those young girls! Always giddy-headed! Work more and laugh less; the pyre is not yet high enough. What does it avail that you rose at early dawn in order to finish your daily tasks before your companions, if you now only frolic instead of hastening the work on the pyre? I am quite sure that more than one impatient look is being cast up here from the valley below, and that more than one voice is saying: 'What may they be up to on the hill that they do not yet give us the signal? Can they be asleep as in winter?' I am certain such are the serious suspicions that you are exposing yourselves to, you eternal gigglers! Such are the pranks of your age. I know it, I should not blame you; but remember that the days are short at this season; before our good men shall have had time to lead the cattle back from the fields, stalled the draft-oxen and the wagons, and put on their holiday clothes, the sun will be down. We shall not be able to reach the monastery until after dark, and the community expects the signal from us before sunset."

"A few more armfuls of dry wood, dame Odille, and all that will be left to do will be to set it on fire," answered a handsome lassie of sixteen years with blue eyes and black hair; "I shall take charge of lighting the pyre; you will see how bold I can be!"

"Oh, Fulvia, your grandmother, my old friend the Bishopess, is right, indeed, when she says that you are a dare-devil."

"My good grandmother is like yourself, dame Odille; her scoldings are but caresses; she loves all that is young and gay."

"And I presume you act so crazily merely in order to please her?"

"Yes, dame Odille; because you must know that it costs me a good deal, it is awfully hard for me to be gay! Alas! Alas!"

And the lass punctuated each exclamation with such a hearty outburst of laughter and droll action, that the good little old woman could not refrain from following the example. Whereupon she said:

"As true as this is the fiftieth time that we celebrate the anniversary of our settling in the Valley of Charolles, I never saw a girl of a more unalterably happy disposition than yours, my lovely Fulvia."

"Fifty years! How awfully long that is, dame Odille. It seems to me I could never live to see fifty years!"

"It looks that way at your charming age of sixteen; but to me, Fulvia, these fifty years of peace and happiness have sped like a dream—except, of course, the evil year when I saw Ronan's father die, and lost my first-born son."

"Look, dame Odille! There are your consolations, now coming up from the field!"

These "consolations" were her husband Ronan himself and his second son Gregory, a man now of mature age who was, in turn, accompanied by his two children, Guenek, a strapping lad of twenty, and Asilyk, a handsome girl of eighteen. Despite his white hair and beard, and despite his seventy-five years, Ronan the Vagre was still quick of motion, vigorous and frolicsome as ever.

"Good evening," he called out to his wife as he embraced her; "good evening, little Odille."

And after him it was the turn of Gregory and his children to embrace the dame.

"Good evening, dear mother."

"Good evening, dear grandmother."

"Do you hear them?" put in Ronan's wife with that smile that sits so charming on the lips of happy elderly people. "Do you hear them? To these two I am 'grandmother,' and for this one here I am 'Little Odille.'"

"Even when you will be a hundred years old, and you will surely reach that age, by the faith of Ronan! I shall always call you 'Little Odille' just as, my little Odille, I shall always call these two friends who are approaching the 'Master of the Hounds' and the 'Bishopess.'"

Just then the Master of the Hounds and his wife joined the group where Ronan stood; the heads of both the new arrivals had been whitened with age, but their faces beamed with happiness.

"Ho! Ho! How fine you look, my old companion, with your new blouse and embroidered cap! And you, beautiful Bishopess, you are no less gorgeously arrayed!"

"Ronan, by the faith of an old Vagre!" said the Master of the Hounds, "I love my Fulvia, in the matron's dress that she now wears, with her brown robe and her coif as white as her hair, as much as I did when she wore her orange skirt, blue sash, gold necklace and silver embroidered red stockings. Do you remember, Ronan? Do you?"

"Odille, if my husband and yours begin to talk about olden days, we shall not arrive at the monastery until to-morrow morning. But Loysik is waiting for us. Let us start."

"Beautiful and wise Bishopess, we shall hearken unto you," merrily replied Ronan. "Come, Gregory; come, my children; let us start, that will take us all the quicker to my good brother Loysik."

A minute later, Fulvia, the grandchild of the Bishopess, came out of the house with several of her girl friends, with a lighted brand in her hand, wherewith she set the pyre on fire. The gladsome cries of the girls and children greeted the bright and sparkling column of fire that mounted heavenward. At the signal, the people down in the valley who were still at work in the fields, started homeward, and an hour later they marched in a body, men, women and children, the old and the young, in festive groups to the monastery of Charolles.

CHAPTER II.

THE ANNUAL CELEBRATION.

The monastic establishment of Charolles was a large sized and solid stone building, without any ornamentation whatever. Besides the cells of the monks, it contained within its precincts a granary, a chapel, a hospital for the male patients of the valley, and a school for young children. During the fifty years of the existence of the settlement, the monk laborers re-elected Loysik every year their superior, and, a strange thing in these days, they all remained lay, Loysik having ever warned them against rashly binding themselves by eternal vows and confounding themselves with the clergy. The monks of the monastery of Charolles lived under rules which they established for themselves and rigorously observed. The discipline of the Order of St. Benoit, which was adopted by a large number of the monasteries of Gaul, seemed to Loysik, by reason of some of its statutes, to either annihilate or at least, degrade human conscience, reason and dignity. If, for instance, the superior ordered a monk to do a thing that was physically impossible, then the monk, after having humbly informed his chief of the impossibility of what was demanded of him, was in duty bound to bow before the order. Another of the statutes provided literally: "It is not allowed to a monk to have his own body and will under his own command." Worst of all it was formally forbidden a monk "to either defend or protect his fellow monk, even though they be united by the bonds of consanguinity." Such a voluntary renunciation of the tenderest and self-respecting impulses; such an abnegation of conscience and of human reason, carried to the point of imbecility; such passive obedience, which turns man into a soulless machine, a species of corpse, seemed too absurd to Loysik, and he resisted the invasion of Charolles by the rules of the Order of St. Benoit, however generally accepted they otherwise were in Gaul.

Loysik presided over the labors of the monastery, and himself took part in them until with old age his strength no longer permitted him to do so. He tended the sick, and assisted by several other brothers he taught the children of the inhabitants of the valley. In the evening, after the hard work of the day, he gathered the brothers around him; in summer, under the vault of the gallery that surrounded the inside yard of the cloister; in winter, in the refectory. There, faithful to the traditions of his family, he narrated to his brothers the glories of ancient Gaul, and the deeds of the valiant heroes of olden times, thus keeping alive in the hearts of all the sacred cult of the fatherland, and combating the feeling of discouragement that often seized upon the firmest spirits at the sight of the abject plight in which all the Gallic provinces subject to Frankish rule found themselves.

The community had thus lived peacefully and industriously for many years under the direction of Loysik. Rarely had he occasion to restore harmony among the brothers. Nevertheless, a few ferments of fleeting dissension, speedily, however, allayed by the ascendency of the aged monk laborer, manifested themselves ever and anon. The following was the source of these untoward events:

Although absolutely free and independent in all that concerned its internal regulations, the election of its superior, the disposition of the yield of the land which it cultivated, nevertheless the monastery of Charolles was subject to the jurisdiction of the diocese of the bishop; moreover, the prelate had the right to place at the monastery the priests of his own choice to read mass, administer communion and the other sacraments, and officiate in the chapel of the monastery which was also the place of religious worship for the other inhabitants of the Valley of Charolles. Loysik submitted to these requirements which the times imposed, in order to insure the tranquility of his brothers and of the other inhabitants of the Valley. But the priests, who thus entered the bosom of the lay cloister, sought more than once to sow discord among the monk laborers, saying to some that they devoted too little time to prayer, urging others to enter the church and become ecclesiastical monks, and thus share the power of the clergy. More than once did these underhanded manoeuvres reach the ears of Loysik who would then firmly address these concocters of dissension in these terms:

"Who labors prays. Jesus of Nazareth severely condemns the do-nothings who will not move with one of their fingers the heavy burdens and grievous to be borne which they lay on their brothers' shoulders and for a pretence make long prayers. We want no idlers here. We are all brothers, and the children of one God. Whether a monk be lay or ecclesiastic they are all alike, provided they live Christian lives. If any there be who, having done his full share in the work of the cloister, chooses to employ in prayer the leisure that man needs after work, he is free to do so—as free as are other members of our community to employ their leisure in the cultivation of flowers, in reading, in conversation with their friends, in fishing, in promenading, in singing, in designing manuscripts, or in any other accomplishment, including the exercise of arms, seeing that we live in days when it is often necessary to repel force with force, and defend one's own life and the lives of his family against violence. Accordingly, in my eyes, he who, after work, seeks honest recreation, is as worthy as he who employs his leisure in prayer. Only idlers are impious! We despise all those who refuse to work."

Loysik was so universally venerated and the community was so happy and thriving that the outside priests never succeeded in permanently disturbing its quiet and harmony. Moreover, Loysik owned both the land and the buildings of the monastery by virtue of an authentic charter issued to him by King Clotaire. Accordingly, the prelates of Chalon found themselves obliged to respect his rights, while they never desisted from pursuing their ends through perfidious means.

On this day the colony and community of Charolles had a holiday. The monk laborers strove to give the best possible reception to their friends of the Valley, who, agreeable to a long established custom, came to thank Loysik for the happy life that they owed him, these descendants of Vagres, brave devils whom the monk's word had converted. Only once a year was the freely adopted rule suspended that interdicted the admittance of women to the cloister. The monks were setting up long tables wherever any could be placed, in the refectory, in the halls where they worked at several manual industries, under the open galleries that ran around the inner courtyard, and even in the yard itself, which, on such solemn and festive occasions, was over-roofed by sheets of linen held fast with cords. In fact, there were tables even in the hall of arms. What! An arsenal in a monastery? Yes. The arms of the Vagres, the founders of the colony and the community, had all been deposited there—a wise measure, advised by Loysik, and which the monk laborers and colonists appreciated at the time when the troops of Chram attacked the Valley. No similar occurrence had happened again since then, but the arsenal was carefully kept and increased. Twice each month, both in the village and the community, the men exercised themselves in the handling of arms, an ever useful precaution in these days, Loysik would say, when one might from one moment to another be called upon to repel some armed band of the Frankish seigneurs.

The monk laborers were engaged setting up tables everywhere. On the tables they placed with innocent pride the fruits of their labors—good wheat bread made of wheat of their own harvesting, generous wine yielded by their own vineyard, quarters of beef and mutton coming from their own cattle yards, fruits and vegetables raised in their own gardens, milk of their own cows, honey from their own hives. They owed this abundance to their daily labor; they now enjoyed its sight and the comfort it afforded both them and their friends. Nothing more legitimate! Besides, the monks experienced profound satisfaction in proving to their old friends of the Valley that they also were good husbandmen, skilful vintners, experienced horticulturists and competent shepherds.

Occasionally it would also befall—the devil ever is at his wicked work—that at some of these anniversary celebrations, when the women and maids were admitted to the otherwise forbidden precincts of the monastery, some monk laborer discovered, by the impression produced upon him by some pretty girl, that his fondness for the austere freedom of celibacy was rather premature. On such occasions the swain would open his heart to Loysik. The latter always insisted upon three months of reflection on the part of the brother, and in the event of his persisting in his conjugal vocation Loysik was speedily seen strolling into the village leaning upon his cane. There he would converse with the parents of the maid upon the advisability of the match; and it rarely happened but that a few months later the colony numbered one more household and the community one brother less, while Loysik would say: "Here is one more evidence of my being right in not accepting eternal vows from my monks."

The preparations for the reception had long been finished in the interior of the monastery, and the sun was on the point of setting when the laborer monks heard a loud noise outside. The whole colony was arriving. At the head of the crowd marched Ronan and the Master of the Hounds, Odille and the Bishopess. They were the four oldest inhabitants of the Valley. A few old Vagres, but younger than these followed behind them; then came the children, the grandchildren, the great-grandchildren of that once so disorderly and so redoubted Vagrery.

Informed of the approach of his friends, Loysik stepped to the gate of the monastery to receive them. Like all the other brothers of the community, the venerable monk was clad in a robe of coarse brown wool, held around his waist by a leather belt. His head was now completely bald; his long snow-white beard fell upon his chest; his bearing was still erect, his eyes clear, although he was beyond eighty; only his venerable hands were slightly agitated by a tremor. The crowd halted; Ronan approached, took his brother's hand, and addressed to him these words:

"Loysik, it is to-day fifty-one years ago that a troop of determined Vagres stood awaiting your arrival on the border of Burgundy. You came to us; you spoke wise words to us; you preached to us the virile virtues of labor and of the domestic hearth; and you thereupon put us in condition to put those virtues into practice by offering to our troop the free enjoyment of this valley. A year later, that is now fifty years ago, our budding colony celebrated the first anniversary of its foundation in this region; and to-day we come—we, our children and the children of our children—once again to say to you through my mouth: 'We are happy, thanks to you, brother; eternal gratitude and friendship to Loysik!'"

"Yes, yes!" echoed the crowd. "Eternal acknowledgment to Loysik—respect and gratitude for our friend, our good father!"

The old monk laborer was deeply moved; sweet tears rolled down from his eyes; he made a sign that he wished to speak; and in the midst of profound silence he uttered these words:

"Thanks to you, my friends, my brothers, to those of you who lived fifty years ago, and to you others who have not known the frightful times that we older ones have experienced, except from the accounts given to you by your parents—thanks for the joy that you afford me this day. After having made themselves feared by their valor, the founders of this colony have made themselves beloved and respected by approving themselves men and women who loved work, were peaceful and honored the family. A happy accident willed it that, in the very midst of the disasters of civil war that for so many years have been desolating our country, Burgundy should be spared these misfortunes, the fruits of a murderous conquest. Let us bless the name of God, who allows us to live here in peace and freedom. But, alas! everywhere else in Gaul, even in this province, our brothers continue under the yoke of slavery. Never forget that. While awaiting the still distant day of the ultimate enfranchisement of our brothers, your savings, together with the savings of the community, have this year also enabled us to ransom a few slave families. Here they are. Love them as we love one another. They also are children of Gaul, disinherited, as we ourselves were fifty-one years ago."

When Loysik finished saying these words, several families, consisting of men, women, children, together with a few aged couples, issued from the monastery weeping with joy. The colonists were emulous of one another as to which of them should harbor the new arrivals until they could provide for themselves. It required Loysik's intervention, always respected, in order to calm the kind and zealous rivalry of the colonists in the tender of their services. With his wonted wisdom he distributed the new colonists among the older ones.

Every year and shortly before these annual celebrations, Loysik left the colony with a sum more or less large, the fruit of the joint savings of the colonists and the community set aside for the ransom of slaves. A few resolute and well-armed monk laborers would then accompany Loysik to Chalon-on-the-Saone, where, towards the beginning of the autumn, a large market of human Gallic flesh was held under the presidency of the count and the bishop of that city, the capital of Burgundy. From the market place the splendid palace of Queen Brunhild could be seen. Loysik would buy as many slaves as the money that he carried with him would permit, but always regretting to find that the ecclesiastical slaves were too high for his purse. The bishops always sold them at double the price of any other. Occasionally, thanks to his persuasive eloquence, Loysik would obtain from some Frankish and less barbarous seigneur than his fellows the gift of a few slaves, and thus increased still more the number of his new colonists, who, the moment they touched the soil of the Valley of Charolles, received a hearty welcome, enjoyed the opportunity to work together with the well-being that flows therefrom, and, above all, regained their freedom.

After the newly enfranchised slaves were distributed among the inhabitants of the Valley, monk laborers and colonists, men, women and children went to table. What a banquet!

"Our feasts in Vagrery were nothing compared with this!" exclaimed Ronan. "Not so, Master of the Hounds?"

"Do you remember, among others of our then sumptuous repasts, the famous supper at our lair in the defile of Allange?"

"Where Bishop Cautin officiated as our cook?"

"Odille, do you remember that strange night when I saw you for the first time, on the occasion of the burning down of the villa of my then husband, the bishop?"

"Certainly, Fulvia, I do remember it; and also the open-handedness with which the Vagres distributed the booty among the poor."

"Loysik, it was during that night that I first learned that you and I were brothers."

"Ah, Ronan, how very brave was not our father Karadeucq! What courage did he not display together with our friend the Master of the Hounds in order to liberate us from the ergastula in the burg of Count Neroweg!"

"Do you remember? Do you all remember?"—once that subject was broached, these questions flew inexhaustible from the lips of the old friends. Thus Ronan, Loysik, the Master of the Hounds, Odille, the Bishopess, all of whom sat together at a table, chatted merrily, while the younger guests enjoyed chattering about the present. The joy was great and general on that evening at the monastery of Charolles.

In the middle of the celebration one of the monk laborers said to a companion:

"What has become of our two priests, Placidus and Felibien? Their absence alarms me."

"Those pious men found, perhaps, the feast too profane. They offered the two men on guard at the lodge where the punt lands to take their places this evening, in order that our brothers might assist at the celebration."

"Somehow, I mistrust that breed!"

CHAPTER III.

ON THE WATCH AT THE RIVER.

The river that rose in the Valley of Charolles crossed it in its full length, then parted into two arms, and thus served both for boundary and natural defense to the territory of the colony. As a matter of precaution, Loysik ordered a punt that served as the only means of communication with the opposite territory, belonging to the diocese of Chalon, to be beached every evening and tied on the Charolles side of the stream. A little lodge, where two brothers of the community always were on guard, was constructed near the landing place of the punt.

The limpid waters of the stream, which was at its widest at that point, reflected that night the mellow light of the moon at its fullest; the two priests who fraternally offered to take the places of the monks and mount guard in their stead walked uneasily up and down near the lodge.

"Placidus, do you see anything? Do you hear anything?" his companion inquired.

"Nothing. I see and hear nothing."

"And yet the moon is high—it must be nearly midnight—and no one yet."

"Let us not lose hope, Felibien."

"It will be a great misfortune if they break their appointment. It will be long before we have another such opportunity to install ourselves as the watchmen of the punt."

"It is only on such a night that the monastery could be safely attacked."

"And yet no one comes."

"Listen—listen—"

"Do you hear anything?"

"No, I was mistaken—it is the rippling of the water on the pebbles of the river bank."

"Perhaps our bishop renounced his project of attacking the monastery."

"That is not likely, seeing that he obtained the consent of Queen Brunhild."

"Listen—listen—this time I am not mistaken. Look yonder, on the opposite bank—do you notice anything sparkling?"

"It is the reflection of the moon on the armor of the warriors."

"Now they are coming! Do you hear the three bugle blasts?"

"It is the signal agreed upon. Quick, now, quick! Let us unfasten the punt and cross over to the other side."

The ropes were unfastened; pushed by Placidus and Felibien by means of long poles the punt arrived at the opposite bank. Mounted on a mule a man awaited them on the opposite shore. He was a Catholic priest. His face was hard and imperious. At his side was a Frankish chief on horseback and escorted by about a score of riders cased in iron. A wagon filled with baggage, drawn by four oxen and followed by several slaves on foot attended the Frankish chief.

"Reverend archdeacon," said Placidus to the man on horseback and in the black robe, "we began to despair of your arrival; but you are still on time. The whole colony—men, women, girls and children—is assembled at the monastery, and only God knows the abominations that are taking place there under the very eyes of Loysik, who incites these sacrilegious excesses!"

"These scandals are about to come to an end and to receive condign punishment, my sons. Can the horses of these riders and the wagon that carries my baggage be risked in that punt?"

"Reverend archdeacon, the cavalry is too numerous for one trip; we shall have to make three or four passages before they can all be transported to the opposite bank."

"Gondowald," said the archdeacon to the Frankish chief, "how would it be if we leave your horses and my mule and wagon temporarily on this side of the river? We could march straight upon the monastery with your horsemen following you on foot."

"Whether on foot or on horseback, they will be enough to execute the orders of my glorious mistress, Queen Brunhild, and to dust with the shafts of their lances the backs of those monks of Satan and of those rustic plebs if they dare offer any resistance."

"Reverend archdeacon, we who know what the monks and people of the Valley are capable of, we are of the opinion that, should they rebelliously resist the orders of our holy bishop of Chalon, twenty warriors will not suffice to overpower them."

Gondowald cast a disdainful look at the priest, and did not even consent to make an answer.

"I do not share your fears, my dear sons; and I have good reasons for my opinion," answered the archdeacon haughtily. "Here we are all in the punt—push off!"

A short while later the archdeacon, Gondowald the chamberlain of Queen Brunhild, and the Queen's twenty warriors landed on the Valley shore, casqued, cuirassed and armed with lances and swords. From their shoulders hung their gilt and painted bucklers.

"Is the distance long from here to the monastery?" inquired the archdeacon as he set foot on land.

"No, father; it is at the most a half hour's walk if we move briskly."

"Lead the way, my dear sons—we will follow."

"Oh, father, the impious people of this community little dream at this hour that the punishment of heaven is ready to descend upon their heads!"

"Move quickly, my sons—justice will soon be done."

"Hermanfred," said the chief of the warriors turning to one of the men in his troop, "have you with you the rope and iron manacles?"

"Yes, seigneur Gondowald."

CHAPTER IV.

BRUNHILD AND FREDEGONDE.

At the monastery the banquet was in full swing. Convivial cordiality presided over the celebration. At the table where Loysik, Ronan, the Master of the Hounds and their respective families were seated, the conversation continued animated and lively. At this moment the subject was the atrocities that took place in the gloomy palace of Queen Brunhild. The happy inhabitants of the Valley listened to the horrible account with the greedy, uneasy and shuddering curiosity that is often felt at night when, seated by a peaceful hearth, one hears some awe-inspiring history. Happy, humble and unknown, the listeners feel certain they will never find themselves concerned in any adventure of the frightful nature of the one that causes them to shudder; they fear and yet they like to hear the end of the tale.

"In order to unravel the sanguinary tangle, and seeing that Brunhild, the present ruler of Burgundy, is the theme, let us first sum up the facts in a few words. Clotaire died not long after he had his son Chram, together with the latter's wife and daughter, burned alive. That was about fifty-three years ago. Is it not so?" Ronan was saying.

"Yes, father," answered Gregory; "we are now in the year 613."

"Clotaire left four sons—Charibert reigned in Paris, Gontran was King of Orleans and Bourges, Sigebert was King of Austrasia and resided in Metz, and Chilperic was left King of Neustria, occupying the royal residence of Soissons, our conquerors, as you know, having given the names of Neustria and Austrasia to the provinces of the north and the east of Gaul."

"Did you say Chilperic, father?" asked Ronan's son. "Chilperic, the Nero of Gaul, one of whose edicts closed with these words: 'Let whomsoever refuses obedience to this law have his eyes put out!'"

"Yes, we were speaking of him and of his brother Sigebert. Let us leave the other two aside, seeing that both Charibert and Gontran died childless, the former in 566, the latter in 593. Although they both showed themselves worthy descendants of Clovis, they need not now occupy us."

"Father, the account that we wish to hear is that of Brunhild and Fredegonde. These two names seem to be inseparable and are both steeped in blood—"

"I am coming to the history of these two monsters and of their two husbands, Chilperic and Sigebert—the two she-wolves have each her wolf, and, what is still worse for Gaul, her whelps. Although married to Andowere, Chilperic had among his numerous concubines a Frankish female slave, a woman of dazzling beauty, and endowed, it is said, with an irresistible power of seduction. Her name was Fredegonde. He became so fascinated with her that, in order to enjoy the company of the slave with utter freedom, he cast off his wife Andowere, who soon thereupon died, in a convent. But Chilperic presently tired of Fredegonde also, and, anxious to emulate his brother Sigebert, who married a princess of royal blood named Brunhild, the daughter of Athanagild, a King of Germanic stock like the Franks, and whose ancestors conquered Spain as Clovis did Gaul, he asked and obtained the hand of Brunhild's sister, Galeswinthe. It is said that nothing was comparable with the sweetness of the face of this princess, while the goodness of her heart matched the angelic qualities of her face. When she was about to leave Spain to come to Gaul and marry Chilperic, the unhappy soul had sad presentiments of a speedy death. Nor did her presentiments deceive her. Six years after her marriage she was smothered to death in her bed by her own husband."

"Like Wisigarde, the fourth wife of Neroweg, who was strangled to death by that Frankish count, whose family still lives in Auvergne," remarked Gregory. "The Frankish kings and seigneurs all follow the same custom."

"Poor Galeswinthe! But why did her husband Chilperic indulge such ferocity toward her?"

"For the reason that the passion which once drew him to Fredegonde and which had cooled for a time, resumed the upper hand with him more hotly than before. He put his second wife out of the way in order to marry the concubine. Thus Fredegonde was married to Chilperic after the murder of Galeswinthe, and became one of the queens of Gaul. At times odd contrasts are seen in the same family. Galeswinthe was an angel, her sister Brunhild, married to Sigebert, was an infernal being. Of exceptional beauty, gifted with an iron will, vindictive to the point of ferocity, animated by an insatiable ambition, and endowed with an intelligence of such high grade that it would have equalled genius had she only not applied her extraordinary faculties to the blackest deeds—Brunhild could not choose but create for herself a fame at which the world grows pale. She first set her cap to revenge Galeswinthe, who was strangled to death by Chilperic at the instigation of Fredegonde. A frightful feud broke out, accordingly, between the two women who now were mortal enemies, and each of whom reigned with her husband over a part of Gaul: poison, the assassin's dagger, conflagrations, civil war, wholesale butcheries, conflicts between fathers and sons, brothers and brothers—such were the means that the two furies employed against each other. The people of Gaul did not, of course, escape the devastating storm. The provinces that were subject to Sigebert and Brunhild were pitilessly ravaged by Chilperic, while the possessions of the latter were in turn laid waste by Sigebert. Thus driven by the fury of their wives, the two brothers fought each other until they were both assassinated."

"Oh, if only Gallic blood did not have to flow in torrents, if only these frightful disasters did not heap fresh ills upon our unhappy country, I would be ready to see in the conflict between those two women, who thus blasted the families that they joined, a positive punishment sent down by heaven," observed Loysik. "But, alas, what ills, what frightful sufferings do not these royal hatreds afflict our own people with!"

"And did the two female monsters ever find ready tools for their vengeance?"

"The murders that they did not themselves commit with the aid of poison, they caused to be committed with the dagger. Fredegonde, whose depravity surpassed Messalina's of old, surrounded herself with young pages; she intoxicated them with unspeakable voluptuousness; she threw their reasoning into disorder by means of philters that she herself concocted; by means of these she rendered them frenetic, and then she would hurl them against the appointed victims. It was by such means that she contrived the assassination of King Sigebert, Brunhild's husband, and that she succeeded in poisoning their son Childebert. It was by such means that she caused a large number of her enemies to be despatched with the dagger and, if the chronicles are to be trusted, her own husband Chilperic was numbered among her victims."

"So, then, that veritable fury spewed out of hell—Fredegonde—spared not even her own husband?"

"Some historians, at least, lay his murder to her door; others charge it to Brunhild. Both theories may be correct; the one Queen, as well as the other, had an interest in putting Chilperic out of the way—Brunhild in order to avenge her sister Galeswinthe, Fredegonde in order to escape the punishment that she feared for the depravity of her life."

"And did punishment finally overtake the abominable woman?"

"Queen Fredegonde died peaceably in her bed in the year 597 at the age of fifty-five years. Her funeral was pompously celebrated by the Catholic priests and she was buried in consecrated ground in the basilica of St. Germain-des-Pres at Paris. In the language of the panegyrists of our Kings, 'Fredegonde reigned long, happy and ably.' At her death she left her kingdom intact to her son Clotaire the younger."

A shudder of horror passed over the hearers of this shocking history. The royal abominations stood in such strong contrast to the morals of the inhabitants of the Valley, that these good people imagined they had heard the narrative of some frightful dream, the fabric of the delusion of a fever.

Gregory was the first to break the silence that ensued:

"Accordingly, Clotaire the younger, son of Fredegonde and Chilperic, is the grandson of Clotaire the elder, the slayer of his little nephews, and is great-grandson to Clovis?"

"Yes—and how worthy of his stock he is proving himself you may judge, my son, by the era of new crimes that follows. His mother Fredegonde bequeathed to him the implacable hatred with which she was herself animated against Brunhild. Accordingly, the mortal duel continued unabated between the latter and the son of her enemy."

"Alas, fresh disasters will befall Gaul, with the renewal of the sanguinary conflict!"

"Oh, indeed frightful disasters—frightful—because the crimes of Fredegonde pale before those of Brunhild, our present Queen, the Queen of the people of Burgundy."

"Father, can the crimes of Brunhild surpass Fredegonde's?"

"Ronan," said Odille carrying both her hands to her temples. "This mass of murders, all committed in the same family, makes one's head reel with dizziness. One's mind feels over-burdened and tires in the effort to follow the bloody thread that alone can lead through the maze of such unnamable crimes. Great God, in what times do we live! What sights may yet be reserved for our children!"

"Unless the demons themselves step next out of hell, little Odille, our children will see nothing that could surpass what is happening now. As I said to you, the crimes of Fredegonde are as naught beside Brunhild's. If you only knew what is going on at this very hour in the magnificent castle of Chalon-on-the-Saone, where the old Queen—the daughter, wife and mother of kings—holds her own great-grandchildren under her tutelage—but no—I dare not—my lips refuse to narrate the shocking incidents—"

"Ronan is right. Shocking things, that language is unable to render, take place to-day in the castle of Queen Brunhild," replied Loysik with a shudder; but turning to his brother he proceeded to say: "Ronan, out of respect for these young families, out of respect for humanity at large, break off your narrative at where you now are."

"You are right, Loysik; I am bound to stop before the impossibility of narrating the misdeeds of Queen Brunhild, who, nevertheless, is one of God's creatures, and belongs to the human species."

At that moment one of the monk laborers approached Loysik and notified him that someone was knocking at the outer gate of the monastery, and that a voice from without announced a message from the bishop of Chalon and from Queen Brunhild.

CHAPTER V.

THE ASSAULT.

The name of the female fiend who then ruled Burgundy pronounced at that moment, produced a profound sensation among the assembled colonists. They were amazed, and a vague sense of apprehension ran over the assembly.

"A message from the bishop and the Queen?" repeated Loysik rising and proceeding to the outward gate. "That is strange. The punt is tied every evening on this side of the river, and the watchers have imperative orders not to cross the stream at night. The messenger must have taken a boat at Noisan and rowed up the river."

With these thoughts running in his mind the superior of the community approached the massive gate bolted from within. Several monks bearing torches followed the venerable head of their establishment. Ronan, the Master of the Hounds, and several other colonists also accompanied Loysik. He made a sign. The heavy gate was unbolted and turned upon its hinges. It exposed to view, brightly lighted by the moon, the archdeacon and Gondowald, the Queen's chamberlain. Behind them the armed men stood ranged in single file, casqued, cuirassed, their bucklers on their arms, lances in hand, and swords by their sides.

"There is some treachery in this," said Loysik in a low voice to Ronan; and turning to one of the monks he asked: "Who is keeping watch to-night at the lodge of the punt?"

"The two priests—they volunteered to take the places of the two brothers whose turn it was to mount guard to-night."

"I see it all," replied Loysik with bitterness, and stepping forward he addressed the archdeacon, who had also stepped forward but stopped at the threshold of the gate together with Gondowald, while their escort of soldiers remained where they were posted.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded.

"My name is Salvien, archdeacon of the church of Chalon and nephew of the venerable Sidoine, bishop of this diocese. I am the bearer of orders from your spiritual chief."

"And I, Gondowald, chamberlain of our glorious Queen Brunhild, am commissioned by her to give the bishop's envoy my own and my men's support."

"Here is a letter for you from my uncle," said the archdeacon handing a parchment to Loysik. "I wish you to inform yourself of its contents."

"My years have made my eyes too weak to read; one of my brothers will read the letter aloud to me."

"The letter may contain secret matters," observed the archdeacon; "I recommend to you that you have it read in a low voice."

"We keep no secrets here from one another—read aloud, brother."

And Loysik passed the missive to one of the members of the community, who proceeded to do as ordered by his superior.

The letter was to the effect that Sidoine, bishop of Chalon, instituted his archdeacon Salvien as abbot of the monastery of Charolles, wishing thereby to put an end to the scandals and enormities that for so many years afflicted Christianity by the example of this community; the same was thenceforth to be rigorously subject to the rules of St. Benoit, as were almost all the other monasteries of Gaul. The lay monks who, by their virtue and humble submission to the orders of their new abbot, should merit the favor, the entirely Christian favor, would be allowed to enter the clergy and become Roman monks. Furthermore, by virtue of the seventh canon of the council of Orleans, held two years previous (in the year 611), and which decreed that "the ownership of the domains, lands, vineyards, slaves and cattle, that may be donated to a parish, shall be vested in the bishop," all the goods of the monastery and of the colony, which, properly speaking, constitute the parish of Charolles, were thenceforth to be vested in the bishop of Chalon, who commissioned his nephew, archdeacon Salvien, to administer said goods. The prelate closed his missive with an order to his beloved son in Christ, Loysik, to proceed upon the spot to the city of Chalon, and there receive the reproof of his bishop and spiritual father, and humbly undergo the punishment or penance that was to be inflicted upon him. Finally, seeing that it might happen that brother Loysik, listening to some diabolical suggestion, might commit the enormity of contemning the orders of his spiritual father, the noble Gondowald, chamberlain of the glorious Queen Brunhild, was commissioned by the illustrious princess to cause the orders of the bishop of Chalon to be carried out, by force, if need be, through the armed men that he would carry with him.

Hardly had the monk laborer finished reading the missive than Gondowald added with a haughty and threatening air:

"I, the chamberlain of the glorious Queen Brunhild, our very excellent and very redoubtable mistress, am commissioned by her to inform you that if you and yours should have the audacity to disobey the orders of the bishop, as may happen, judging from the insolent murmurs that I have just heard, I shall have you and the most recalcitrant of your fellows tied to the tails of the horses of my riders, and shall thus take you to Chalon, quickening your steps with the shafts of our lances over your backs."

In fact, the reading of the bishop's missive was several times interrupted by the murmurs of the monk laborers and of the colonists, and these murmurs swelled to such proportions that the intervention of Loysik became necessary in order to hear the bishop's letter to the end. But when the Frank Gondowald defiantly uttered his insolent threats, the crowd answered with an explosion of furious cries intermixed with jeers and sneers.

Ronan, the Master of the Hounds and several other old time Vagres were not among the last to murmur against the usurpatory pretensions of the Bishop of Chalon, who proposed to appropriate to himself the goods of the monk laborers and the colonists, and trample down their every right. Although age had whitened their heads and paled their faces, the Vagres felt their old fighting blood boil in their veins. Ever a man of action, Ronan quickly reverted to his early profession and whispered to the Master of the Hounds:

"Pick out thirty resolute men, take them to the arsenal, arm yourselves and run to the punt so as to cut off the retreat of the Franks. I shall take charge of what is to be done here. By the faith of a Vagre, I feel myself grown younger by fifty years!"

"And I, Ronan, while the insolent missive was being read, and especially when the valet of that infamous Queen dared to threaten us, my hand looked for a sword at my side."

Immediately the two old Vagres started to work among the crowd of colonists and monks; they moved hither and thither, whispering in the ears of the men whom they were choosing, and each of whom vanished successively amidst the increasing uproar, that Loysik's firm and sonorous voice was hardly able to dominate as he answered the archdeacon:

"The Bishop of Chalon has no right to impose upon this community either special rules or an abbot. We elect our chiefs ourselves and of our free will, in the same manner that we adopt such rules as we are willing to follow, provided they be Christian. Such was the former and original law that presided at the foundation of all the cloisters of Gaul. The bishops exercise over us only the spiritual jurisdiction that they exercise upon all other lay members. We are here the masters of our goods and of our persons, by virtue of a charter of the late King Clotaire, which expressly forbids his dukes, counts and bishops to incommode us. You speak of councils. One can find anything he wants in those councils, good and evil, what is just and what is unjust. My memory has not yet left me. This is what the council of 611 says upon this very subject:

"'We have learned that certain bishops wrongfully establish their own relatives or favorites as abbots in monasteries, and procure for them iniquitous advantages, in order to acquire through violence all that can be extracted from the monastery by the agent whom they have placed there.'"

The archdeacon bit his lips, and a volley of hisses drowned his voice as he attempted to make answer.

"That language, the language I have quoted to you as held by that council of 611, is the language of justice," Loysik proceeded to say; "and I recognize in no council, in no prelate, in no King, in no Pope the right to dispossess honorable and industrious people of their goods, their lands and their freedom, all of which they hold by virtue of their natural rights, which are anterior and superior to all authority."

"I say that your monastery is a new Babylon, a modern Gomorrah!" cried the archdeacon. "The Bishop of Chalon was so informed; I wished to convince myself by personal observation. I see women and young girls in this place which should be consecrated to austerity, to prayer and to seclusion. I see all the evidences of an unclean orgy, which was doubtlessly intended to be prolonged until morning—under your own eyes, in this monastery!"

"Enough!" cried Loysik in turn and indignantly. "I, as the head of this community, forbid you to soil the ears of these wives and young girls, who are here assembled with their families in order peacefully to celebrate the anniversary of our settlement upon this free soil!"

"Archdeacon, we have had a surfeit of words," put in Gondowald haughtily. "To what purpose reason with these dogs—have you not my men here, ready to enforce obedience?"

"I wish to make one last effort to open the eyes of these unhappy blind people," answered the archdeacon. "This unworthy Loysik keeps them under his infernal magic. All of you who hear my voice, tremble if you resist the orders of our bishop!"

"Salvien," said Loysik, "these words are idle, your threats will be unavailing before our firm resolution to uphold the justice of our cause. We reject you as abbot of this monastery. These monk laborers and the inhabitants of this colony owe no one an account of their goods. This useless debate is wearisome; let us put an end to it. The door of this monastery is open to those who present themselves as friends, but it closes in the face of those who present themselves as enemies or masters, in the name of iniquitous pretensions. Withdraw from these premises!"

"Be gone, archdeacon of the devil!" yelled several voices. "Try not to disturb our celebration! You might be sorry for it!"

"Rebellion! Threats!" cried the archdeacon, and stepping aside to make room for the Frankish warriors to enter the courtyard, he added: "Gondowald, carry out the Queen's orders!"

"But for your delays, her orders would long ago have been executed! Forward, my soldiers; bind the old monk, and exterminate the plebs if it offers resistance!"

"Forward, my boys! Down with these Franks, and long live old Gaul!"

Whose voice was that? It was the voice of old Ronan, close upon whose heels followed about thirty monk laborers and colonists, all picked men, resolute and strong, and fully armed with lances, axes and swords. These doughty men had noiselessly passed out of the precincts of the monastery through the yard of the stables and rounded the outside buildings till they reached a corner of the wall that surrounded the main building. There they halted, silent and in ambush, until the moment when Gondowald summoned his soldiers. Ronan's men immediately and unexpectedly fell thereupon on the Franks. At the same moment and accompanied by an equally determined, strong and well armed body of men, Gregory was seen issuing from the interior buildings of the monastery, pushed his way through the crowd that now filled the courtyard and advanced in good order upon the enemy. The archdeacon, Gondowald and the twenty soldiers that constituted his escort, found themselves suddenly surrounded by over sixty determined men, in justice to whom be it said all of them were animated with evil intentions towards the Franks. The latter were not long in perceiving the hopelessness of their situation and the feelings entertained towards them. They offered no serious resistance; after a few passes they surrendered. Despite, however, the rapidity with which the manoeuvre was executed, Gondowald, who in his first impulse of surprise and rage had raised his sword over Loysik's head and wounded one of the monks who covered the aged superior with his body—Gondowald, for all that he rejoiced in the office of chamberlain to the glorious Queen Brunhild, was thrown to the ground and soundly drubbed before his disarmed men. Thanks to Loysik's intervention, no blood flowed in the rapid melee other than that of the monk who was slightly wounded by Gondowald. As a matter of precaution, the noble chamberlain was bound fast and handcuffed with the identical rope and manacles that, with a foresight for which old Ronan felt duly grateful, he had intended for Loysik.

"In the name of the Holy Roman and Apostolic Church, I excommunicate you all!" cried the archdeacon livid with rage. "Anathema upon whosoever should dare to lift a sacrilegious hand against a priest of the Church, an anointed of the Lord!"

"Tempt me not, archdeacon of Satan! By the faith of a Vagre, old as I am, I have a good mind to deserve your anathema by letting loose upon your sacred back a shower of blows with the scabbard of my sword."

"Ronan, Ronan, no violence!" said Loysik. "These strangers came here as enemies; they were the first to shed blood; you have disarmed them; that was just—"

"And their arms will enrich our arsenal," Ronan broke in saying. "Come, boys, gather in that goodly harvest of iron. By my faith, we shall now be armed like royal warriors!"

"Take those soldiers and their chief into one of the halls of the monastery," Loysik ordered. "They are to be kept locked up; armed monks shall mount guard at the doors and windows. We shall later decide upon what is to be done."

"To dare hold me a prisoner, me, an officer of Queen Brunhild's household!" cried Gondowald grinding his teeth and struggling to free himself from his bonds. "Oh, you will pay dearly for such audacity, insolent monk! The Queen will take revenge for me upon your old hide!"

"Queen Brunhild has acted in defiance of law and justice by sending hither armed men to support with force the message of the Bishop of Chalon. She did wrong, even if his pretensions were as just as they are iniquitous," Loysik answered Gondowald; and turning to his monks he proceeded: "Take away those men; above all guard against any injury being done to them; if they need food, let them be supplied. Let us prove ourselves merciful."

The monks led away the Frankish soldiers and their chief, the latter of whom had to be carried in their arms, seeing that he wrathfully refused to walk. This being done, Loysik said to the archdeacon, who snarled out of breath with rage like a fox caught in a trap:

"Salvien, before aught else I must insure the safety and tranquility of this colony and community. I am, consequently, compelled to order you to remain a prisoner in this monastery. Fear not; you will be treated with consideration; your prison will be the precinct of the monastery. Within three or four days at the latest—when I shall be back here—you will be set free to return to Chalon."

After the archdeacon was removed from their presence, Ronan said to Loysik:

"Brother, you spoke of your return; are you going away? Where to?"

"Yes; I depart this instant. I am going to Chalon, to speak with the bishop and the Queen."

"What, Loysik!" cried Ronan with painful anxiety. "You leave us? You propose to face Brunhild? Do you forget that that name spells 'Implacable Vengeance,' Loysik? You would be running to your perdition! No—no! You shall not undertake such a journey!"

The monk laborers as well as the rest of the colonists shared the apprehensions of Ronan, and began to ply Loysik with tender and pressing entreaties, in order to draw him from his foolhardy project. The old monk was not to be moved. While one of the brothers who was to accompany him hastily made the preparations for the journey, he repaired to his own cell in order to take the charter of King Clotaire, which he kept there. Ronan and his family followed Loysik, still seeking to dissuade him from his project. He answered them sadly:

"Our situation is beset with perils. Not the fate of the monastery alone but of the whole colony is at stake. You could easily prevail over a handful of soldiers; but we cannot think of resisting Brunhild by force. To attempt any such thing would be to invite the utter ruin of the Valley, the slaughter of its inhabitants and slavery for the survivors. Clotaire's charter establishes our rights; but what is law or right to Brunhild?"

"But that being so, what do you purpose to do at Chalon, in the very den of the she-wolf?"

"To demand justice of her!"

"But you just said yourself 'What is law or justice to Brunhild!'"

"She sports with justice as she does with the lives of her men; and yet I entertain some slight hope. I wish you to keep the archdeacon and his soldiers prisoners—first, because in their fury they certainly would have me waylaid and killed on the road; I cling to life in order to lead to a successful issue the business that I now have in hand; secondly, because, rather than have the archdeacon and the chamberlain precede me in making the report of to-night's occurrence, I prefer myself to inform the bishop and Brunhild of the resistance that we offered."

"But, brother, suppose justice is refused you; suppose the implacable Queen orders you to be slain—as she has done with so many other victims of her injustice!"

"In that event the iniquity will be accomplished. In that event, if their purpose is not only to subject your goods and persons to the tyranny and exactions of the Church, but also to despoil you forcibly of the soil and the liberty that you have reconquered and which a royal charter guarantees to you, in that event you will be forced to take a supreme resolution. Call together a solemn council, as our fathers of yore were in the habit of doing whenever the safety of the land was in peril. Let the mothers and wives take part in that council, as was the ancient custom of Gaul, because the fate of their husbands and children is to be determined upon. You will then with calmness, wisdom and firmness decide upon one of these three alternatives—the only ones, alas! left to you: Whether to submit to the pretensions of the Bishop of Chalon, and accept a disguised servitude that will soon transform our free Valley into a domain of the Church, to be exploited for his benefit; whether you will bow before the will of the Queen if she tramples your rights under foot, tears up the charter of Clotaire, and declares our Valley a domain of the royal fisc, which will mean to you spoliation, misery, slavery and shame; or, finally, whether, strong in your own right, but certain of being crushed by superior numbers, to make protest against the royal or episcopal iniquity by a heroic defense, and bury yourselves and your families under the ruins of your homes. You will have to decide upon one of these three measures."

"All of us, without exception, men, women and children, will know how to fight and die like our ancestors, Loysik! And perhaps it may happen that the bloody lesson and example may shake the surrounding populations from their torpor. But, brother—brother—to think of your starting alone, and alone confronting a danger that I cannot share with you!"

"Come, Ronan, no weakness. See to it that all the fortified posts of the Valley be occupied as was done fifty years ago at the time of the invasion of Burgundy by Chram. The old military experience that you and the Master of the Hounds have acquired will now be of great service. For the rest, there will be no fear of any attack during the next four or five days. It will take me two days to reach Chalon, and an equally long time for the Queen's troops to reach the Valley, in the event of her resolving upon violence. Until the moment of my arrival at Chalon, both the bishop and Brunhild will be in the dark as to whether their orders were enforced or not. They can receive no tidings seeing that the archdeacon and the chamberlain, together with their troops, remain prisoners in the Valley and under safe surveillance."

"And in case of need they will serve as hostages."

"It is the law of war. If the insane bishop, if the implacable Queen wish war, we must also keep as prisoners the two priests, the infamous hypocrites, who treacherously brought the archdeacon into the Valley."

"I overheard the monks argue upon the lesson that they should administer to the two spies—they spoke of a strapping."

"I expressly forbid any act of violence towards the two priests!" said Loysik in a tone of severe reproof, addressing two monk laborers who happened to be at the time in the cell. "Those clerks are but the creatures of the bishop; they merely obeyed his orders. I repeat it—no violence, my children!"

"Good father Loysik, seeing you so order it, no harm shall be done them."

Heartrending was the leave-taking between Loysik and both the inhabitants of the colony and the members of the community. Many tears flowed; many childish hands clung to the monk's robe. Vain were the recurring entreaties not to depart on his errand. He took his leave, accompanied as far as the punt by Ronan and his family. At the landing of the punt they found the Master of the Hounds and his posse ready posted to cut off the retreat of the Franks. As he took his post, the Master of the Hounds noticed on the other side of the river a number of slaves guarding the mounts of the warriors and the archdeacon's baggage. The Master of the Hounds considered it prudent to seize both men and animals. Leaving one-half of his companions at the lodge, he crossed the river at the head of the rest. The slaves offered no resistance, and three trips sufficed to transport the men, the animals and the wagons to the opposite shore. Loysik approved the manoeuvre of the Master of the Hounds. Seeing that neither the archdeacon nor Gondowald returned, the slaves might have run back to Chalon and given the alarm. It was important to the project upon which the monk was bent that the recent occurrences at the monastery remained a secret. Considering his advanced age and the long road that he had to travel, Loysik decided to use the archdeacon's mule for the journey. The animal was re-embarked on the punt, which Ronan and his son Gregory decided themselves to take to the other shore, so as to remain a few minutes longer with Loysik. The craft touched ground; the old monk laborer embraced Ronan and his son once more, mounted his mule, and, accompanied by a young brother of the community, who followed him on foot, took the road to Chalon-on-the-Saone, the residence of the redoubted Queen Brunhild.

PART II.

THE CASTLE OF BRUNHILD

CHAPTER I.

IN THE TOWER-ROOM.

"Long live he who loves the Franks! May Christ uphold their empire! May He enlighten their chiefs and fill them with grace! May He protect the army, may He fortify the faith, may He grant peace and happiness to those who govern them under the auspices of our Lord Jesus Christ!"

By the faith of a Vagre! That passage from the prelude to the Salic Law always recurs to the mind when Frankish kings or queens are on the tapis. Let us enter the lair of Brunhild—splendid lair! Not rustic is this burg, like Neroweg's, the large burg that we old Vagres reduced to ashes! No; this great Queen has a refined taste. One of her passions is for architecture. The noble woman loves the ancient arts of Greece and Italy. Aye, she loves art! Regale your sight with the magnificent castle that she built at Chalon-on-the-Saone, the capital of Burgundy. Magnificent as are all her other castles, none, not even that of Bourcheresse, can compare with her royal residence, the superb gardens of which stretch to the very banks of the Saone. It is a palace at once gorgeous and martial. In these days of incessant feuds, kings and seigneurs always turn their homes into fortifications. So also did Brunhild. Her palace is girt by thick walls, flanked with massive towers. One only entrance—a vaulted passage closed at its two extremities by enormous iron-barred doors—leads within. Night and day Brunhild's men-at-arms mount guard in the vault. In the inside courtyards are numerous other lodges for horsemen and footmen. The halls of the palace are vast; they are paved in marble or in mosaics, and are ornamented with colonnades of jasper, porphyry and alabaster surmounted with capitals of gilded bronze. These architectural wonders, masterpieces of art, the spoils of the temples and palaces of Gaul, were transported with the help of an immense number of relays of slaves and beasts of burden from their original and distant sites to the palace of the Queen. These vast and gorgeous halls, which are furthermore stored with massive ivory, gold and silver furniture, with exquisitely wrought pagan statues, with precious vases and tripods, are but vestibules to the private chamber of Brunhild. The sun has just risen. The spacious halls are filling with the Queen's domestic slaves, with officers of her troops, with high dignitaries of her establishment—chamberlains, equerries, stewards, constables—all coming to receive their mistress's orders.

A circular apartment, contrived into one of the towers of the palace, connects with the chamber that the Queen habitually inhabits. The walls are pierced by three doors—one leads to the hall where the officers of the palace are in waiting; another into Brunhild's bedroom; the third, a simple bay closed by a curtain of gilded leather, opens upon a spiral staircase that is built into the hollow of the wall itself. The Queen's chamber is sumptuously furnished. Upon a table, covered with a richly embroidered tapestry, lie rolls of white parchment beside a solid coffer studded with precious stones. Around the table a number of chairs are arranged, all of which are furnished with soft purple cushions. Here and there the shafts of pillars serve as pedestals for vases of jasper, of onyx, or of Corinthian bronze, a material more precious than gold or red alabaster. Upon an antique green plinth rests a group exquisitely wrought in Parisian marble and representing the pagan god of Love caressing Venus. Not far from that group, two statues of bronze that age has turned green represent the obscene figures of a fawn and a nymph. Between these two masterpieces of pagan art, a picture painted upon wood and brought at great expense from Byzantium, represents the infant Christ and John the Baptist, the latter also as a child. This picture of holiness indicates that Queen Brunhild is a fervent Catholic. Does she not carry on a regular correspondence with the Pope of Rome, the pious Gregory, who can not bestow too many blessings upon his holy daughter in Christ? Further away, upon yonder ivory stand, is an elaborately carved case in which large Roman and Gallic medals of silver and gold are displayed. Among these medals is one of bronze, the only one of that metal in the collection. What does it represent?

What! Here! In a place like this! That august, that venerated face! O, profanation!

Oh, never was the place or time more opportune for a miracle than here and now, in order to terrify evildoers! That bronze effigy should shudder with horror at the place in which it finds itself.

An elderly and richly clad woman, of stony, cynic and wily countenance, steps from Brunhild's bedroom and enters the apartment in the tower. The woman, of noble Frankish extraction and Chrotechilde by name, has long been the confidante in all the Queen's crimes and debaucheries. She steps to a bell, rings it and waits. Shortly after, another old woman appears at the door that opens upon the spiral staircase in the wall. Her extremely simple costume announces that she is of inferior rank.

"I heard you ring, noble dame Chrotechilde, at your orders."

"Did Samuel, the slave merchant, come as ordered?"

"He has been waiting below for over an hour with two young girls, and also an old man with a long white beard."

"Who is that old man?"

"A slave, I suppose, that the Jew is to take somewhere else, after his business is done here."

"Order Samuel to bring up the two young girls, immediately."

The old woman bowed and vanished behind the curtain. Almost at the same moment Brunhild stepped out of her bedroom.

The Queen was sixty-seven years of age; the lines on her face still preserved the traces of exceptional beauty. Her wan and wrinkled face was illumined by the somber brilliancy of her two large but sunken eyes, which were surrounded with deep, dark circles. They were black, like her long eyelashes; only her hair was white. A front of brass, cruel lips, penetrating eyes, a head haughtily poised, proud and lofty carriage, seeing that she had preserved a straight and supple waist—such was Brunhild. She had hardly stepped into the apartment, when she stopped, listened and said to Chrotechilde:

"Who is coming up the little stairs?"

"The slave merchant; he has two young girls with him."

"Let him in—let him in!"

"Madam, whom do you intend to present with the two slave girls that he brings?"

"I shall tell you later. But I am in a hurry to examine the two creatures. The choice is important."

"Madam, here is Samuel."

The dealer in Gallic flesh, a Jew by extraction like most of the men who devoted themselves to such traffic, entered, followed by the two slaves whom he brought with him. They were wrapped in long white veils, that were transparent enough to enable them to walk unassisted.

"Illustrious Queen," said the Jew dropping on one knee and bowing so low that his forehead almost touched the floor, "I am here obedient to your orders; here are two young female slaves; they are veritable treasures of beauty, of sweetness, of gracefulness, of gentleness and above all of maidenliness. Your excellency knows that old Samuel has but one quality—that of being an honest trader."

"Rise—rise!" commanded Brunhild, addressing the two girls, who, at the sight of the redoubted Queen, had fallen on their knees at the threshold of the door near the merchant. "Let the girls rise, and remove their veils."

The two slaves hastened to obey the Queen. They rose. To the end of enhancing the value of his merchandise, the Jew had clad the two young girls in short-sleeved tunics, the skirt of which hardly reached their knees, while the cut of their corsage left their bosoms and shoulders half exposed. One of the two slaves, a tall and lithesome girl, wore a white tunic; her eyes were blue; a strand of corals wound itself in the braids of her black hair; eighteen or twenty years was the utmost age that she could be taken for. The girl's face, touchingly beautiful and open, was bathed in tears. Steeped in sorrow and shame, and trembling at every limb, she dared not raise her tear-dimmed eyes out of fear to encounter Brunhild's. After long and attentively contemplating the girl, whom she ordered to turn around in order to have a view of her from all sides, the old Queen exchanged a look of approval with Chrotechilde, who had been no less attentively examining the slave. Addressing the latter she asked:

"Of what country are you?"

"I am from the city of Toul," answered the girl in a tremulous voice.

"Aurelie! Aurelie!" cried Samuel stamping on the ground with his foot. "Is that the way you remember my lessons? You should answer: 'Glorious Queen, I am from the city of Toul.'" And turning towards Brunhild, "Kindly pardon her, madam, but she is so childish, so simple—"

Brunhild cut off the Jew's flow of words and proceeded with her interrogatory:

"Where were you taken?"

"At Toul, madam, when the city was sacked by the King of Burgundy."

"Were you free or slave?"

"I was free—my father was a master armorer."

"Can you read and write? Have you pleasing accomplishments? Can you sing and play?"

"I can read and write, and my mother taught me to play upon the archlute and to sing."

When she said that she could sing, the unhappy girl was unable to repress the sobs that suffocated her. She must have thought of her mother.

"Weep, and weep again!" Samuel cried, angrily scolding the girl. "You can do that better than anything else. But, as you know, great Queen, one has a certain supply of tears, after the supply has run out the bag is empty."

"Do you really believe so, Jew? Fortunately you are merely slandering the human race," observed the Queen with a cruel smile, and proceeded to interrogate the young girl:

"Have you ever been a slave before now?"

"By the faith of Samuel, illustrious Queen, she is as new to slavery as a child in the womb of its mother!" cried the Jew as he saw the young Gallic slave breaking out anew into sobs, and unable to make answer. "I bought Aurelie on the very day of the battle of Toul, and since then my wife Rebecca and I have watched over the girl as if she were our own child, hoping that we might realize a fair price for her. We guarantee that she is a maiden."

After another look over the girl, who now hid her face in her hands, Brunhild said to Samuel:

"Return her veil to her; let her stop whimpering; bring forth the other one."

Aurelie received her veil from the hands of the Jew like an act of kindness, and hastened to wrap herself up in its folds in order to conceal her grief, her shame and her tears. At the Queen's order, the other slave hastened to step forward. Dainty and fresh as a Hebe, she might be sixteen years of age. A string of pearls wound itself in the stout braids of her bright blonde hair; her large hazel eyes sparkled with mischief and fire; her thin and slightly upturned nose, her rosy and palpitating nostrils, her ruby but rather fleshy lips, her little enamel teeth, her dimpled cheeks and chin, imparted to this girl the liveliest, gayest and most impudent look imaginable. Her tunic of green silk added luster to the whiteness of her bosom and shoulders. Oh! the Jew had no need of telling this one to turn around, and turn again, in order that the aged Queen might obtain a good view of her charming shape. She raised her head, arched her neck, rose on the tips of her feet, folded her arms gracefully, and at all points played the coquette before Brunhild and Chrotechilde, who again exchanged looks of approval, while the Jew, who was now made to feel as uneasy by the audacity of this slave as before by the sorrowful deportment of the other, whispered to her:

"Keep quiet, Blandine—do not shake your legs and wave your arms quite so much. A little more decorum, my girl, in the presence of our illustrious and beloved Queen! One would think you had quicksilver in your veins! May your excellence excuse her, illustrious princess. She is so young, so gay, so giddy-headed—all she wants is to fly from her cage and display her plumage and voice. Lower your eyes, Blandine! You audacious girl! How dare you look our august Queen in the face!"

Indeed, instead of avoiding the penetrating eyes of Brunhild, Blandine sought to catch and mischievously to challenge them, all the while smiling with a confident mien. The Queen, accordingly, after an equally long and minute survey, said to her:

"Slavery does not seem to sadden you?"

"On the contrary, glorious Queen, to me slavery has been freedom."

"How is that, impudent lass?"

"I had a peevish, cross, quarrelsome step-mother. She made me spend upon the cold stone porches of the basilicas all the time that I was not engaged plying my needle. The old fury used to beat me whenever I unfortunately took my nose off my sewing and smiled at some lad at the window. Accordingly, great Queen, what a sad lot was mine! Ill fed, I who am so fond of dainties; ill clad, I who am so coquettish; on my feet at the first crow of the cock, I who am so fond of snoozing in my bed! And so it happens that great was my joy when your invincible grandson and his brave army, Queen, illustrious Queen, drew, last year, near Tolbiac, where I lived."

"Why so?"

"Because, glorious Queen, I knew that Frankish warriors never kill young girls. I said to myself: 'Perhaps I may be captured by some baron of Burgundy, a count, or perhaps even a duke, and once I am a slave, if I know myself, I shall become a mistress—because there have been female slaves known—"

"To become Queens, like Fredegonde, not so, my little one?"

"And why not, if they are pretty!" impudently answered the minx without lowering her eyes before Brunhild, who listened to and contemplated her with a pensive air. "But, alas," Blandine proceeded saying with a half suppressed sigh, "I did not then have the fortune of falling into the hands of a seigneur. An old leude, with long white moustaches and not a bit amorous, had me for his share of the booty, and he immediately after sold me to seigneur Samuel. But perhaps it is not yet too late, and a lucky chance may come my way. But what is this that I am saying!" added Blandine smiling her sweetest at Brunhild, "is it not a great, an unexpected piece of good luck that has brought me to your presence, illustrious Queen?"

After a moment's reflection, Brunhild said to the merchant:

"Jew, I shall buy one of these two slaves from you."

"Illustrious Queen, which of the two do you prefer, Aurelie or Blandine?"

"I am not yet decided—leave them at the palace until this evening—they shall be taken to my women's apartment."